


Fire Dragon

by Sunne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Non-human, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7237309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunne/pseuds/Sunne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their friendship was unlikely, but as time went on, she got to know the real person behind the cold mask. Friendship is golden when the world turns black. Take what you can get, and hold on to those you have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Antiquus Signum

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this between 2007 and 2010, and I finally got around to editing it. It's not perfect, but it's the first huge HP fanfic I ever wrote. I can't promise frequent updates considering I have 3 other projects going on.
> 
> The chapter title loosely means Ancient Runes in Latin.

 

**Chapter One**

 

“Antiquus Signum”

* * *

 

Hermione Granger sat at her house’s table in the Great Hall one morning during the second week of school. The enchanted ceiling revealed a cloudless sky, spotted with flocks of migrating birds, and the sun shining brightly.  _ Spellman’s Syllabary _ , by Sheila Spellman, sat wide open before her, her finger easily gliding across the page as she read. She brushed a lock of curly hair out of her eyes as she turned the yellowed page. Picking up a piece of buttered toast from the plate next to her elbow, she munched on her breakfast as she studied next week's lesson.

“Honestly, Hermione,” Ron Weasley said, sitting down next to her. “Studying at breakfast.” He shook his head, piling eggs and sausages onto his plate.

She continued to read, ignoring the red-head beside her. “Education is important, Ron.”

“But it’s only the second week of school.” He spoke around a mouthful of eggs and toast.

“Yes.” She grimaced at him, flicking a speck of egg from the sleeve of her robes. “Next year is OWLs, and I want to be prepared.”

Ron’s eyes bulged, his mouth hanging open, a half-chewed sausage visible. “OWLs?”

“Yes, OWLs,” she said simply.

“But they aren’t until the end of next year. Why are you worrying about them now?”

She slid him a look. “I like to be prepared.”

“You’re barmy,” he said, staring at her openly.

“He has a point 'Mione.” Harry slid onto the bench beside Hermione. “The OWLs aren’t until next year, and you’re the smartest witch in our year. I think you’ll be okay.” Deftly, he reached over and grabbed  _ Spellman’s Syllabary _ , removing it from the table.

“But—“ Her hand followed the book as it disappeared beneath the table.

“Nope.” Harry kept the book out of reach. “You are going to spend one breakfast without a book.”

Narrowing her eyes, Hermione glared at Harry as he ignored her and grabbed a stack of toast. Then, giving up, she huffed quietly and returned to her own breakfast.

From the rafters above, the owls came, carrying letters and packages. One in particular dove towards Hermione, as one did everyday, and dropped an issue of the  _ Daily Prophet _ beside her plate and waited, pecking at her toast.

“Just a moment,” she said and leaned over to rummage around in her bag, one hand gripping the edge of the table. Sitting back up, she dropped seven knuts into the leather bag tied to the owl’s foot and watched as the owl swooped back up and disappeared. Opening the paper, she scanned the headlines, looking for anything interesting.

“Anything good?” Ron leaned over to read over Hermione’s shoulder.

“No…” she said, flipping the page. “Oh, there’s an article comparing and contrasting the curriculum in Wizarding schools and Muggle schools.” Interest lit up in her eyes, and she began reading.

“Can I at least have the Quidditch section?”

“When I’m finished.” She waved her hand dismissively at him.

“Come on, it’s not like you’re going to read it.”

Sighing through her nose, Hermione quickly turned to the Quidditch section, giving it to Ron before returning to her article. Ron began excitedly chatting with Harry about some team or another, and she tuned them out.

The bell rang, the sound bonging heavily through the Great Hall. Students and teachers alike gathered up their belongings, shoving one last bite of toast or spoonful of eggs into their mouths before heading out. Hermione followed Harry and Ron, dismissing their Quidditch babble. Halfway to the Greenhouse Three, she stopped suddenly. Harry and Ron, sensing her pause, turned to look at her questioningly.

“Harry, where’s my book?” she asked, her eyes wide with worry.

“Your book?” He tilted his head to the side.

“ _ Spellman’s Syllabary _ .”

His face dawned with comprehension and quickly switched to regret. “I’m sorry ‘Mione. I forgot it; it’s in the Great Hall,” he said. “I’ll go back with you and get it.” He started back towards the castle.

She shook her head, already turning. “No need,” she said. “Just tell Professor Sprout that I’ll be a few minutes late.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and turned around, walking the rest of the way to Greenhouse Three with Ron.

Hermione dashed across the lawn and up the stairs to the oak front doors, pushing them open with both arms and slipping inside. Running across the Entrance Hall, she crashed into another person, their legs becoming entangled, both falling to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going, Granger,” Draco Malfoy growled, his pale, blond hair in disarray and his eyes a wall of cold steel.

Hermione looked up in surprise and quickly extricated herself from the fuming Malfoy heir. Standing up, she brushed off her robes and watched as Draco got to his feet, sneering the entire time.

Running his hands along his clothing, he glared at her. “Filthy Mudblood,” he shot out at her, his eyes cruel and awaiting her reaction.

“Really Malfoy,” she said. “One would have thought you’d grown up by now.” The scathing remark slid from her mouth easily, and before Draco could reply, Hermione turned on her heel and entered the Great Hall, letting the door slam behind her.

* * *

 

That afternoon, Hermione stood on the second floor waiting for the staircase to move, her foot tapping impatiently and her eyes checking her watch every few moments. Finally, with a great grinding noise, the stairs slowly moved from the third floor to the fifth floor. Blowing a strand of hair out of her face, she tightened the hold on her book under her arm and sprinted up the stairs. By the time she reached the Ancient Runes classroom, the late bell was trailing her, ringing seconds after she stepped into the small room. Professor Babbling, a middle-aged woman with long blond hair tied up into a bun, stood at the front of the room and set her eyes upon Hermione when she entered.

“Miss Granger, it would do you good to watch your time between classes,” she said kindly. “Now, please take a seat, class has begun.”

Nodding, Hermione apologized, redness creeping up her cheeks. Taking a deep, calming breath, she quickly scanned the classroom and sighed when the only open desk was next to Draco. She took her seat next to him, ignoring the nasty look he gave her, and took out her things as the teacher took attendance.

When all the students were accounted for, Professor Babbling grabbed a stack of copied parchments from the front desk. Starting at the row of desks furthest from Hermione, she counted them out, one for each student in the row.

“This is to be done in class,” she said, giving a stack of five parchments to the person at the start of the row. “You may use your book and the person sitting next to you if you wish.” The professor smiled, the students murmuring their agreement.

Receiving a stack of parchments from the professor, Hermione took one, passing the rest behind her, and began eagerly working.

Beside Hermione, Draco began working. He stared at his parchment and bit his lip, reading the first question.

  1. _What three-digit number do the runes below represent? Explain your answer._



Below the question, three tiles were drawn: a unicorn, a demiguise, and another unicorn. Studying the runes, he dipped his quill into his pot of ink and began writing.

_ The number would be 101. The unicorn, having only one horn, represents the number one, accounting for the first and last rune. The demiguise in the middle stands for the number zero for its ability to become invisible. _

Diligently, Draco worked through the problems written out on the parchment. Reaching the end of the problems, he glanced up at the clock, noting ten minutes remaining, and read the last problem.

  1. _If one wanted to write the number 455, what runes would he/she use? Explain your reasoning._



Staring at the question for a moment, Draco bent over and stuck his hand into his bag sitting on the floor next to him, searching for his textbook. When his hand didn’t brush against the thin, smooth cover of  _ Ancient Runes Made Easy _ , he blew a sharp puff of air out of his mouth, rustling the hair hanging in his eyes. Returning to his proper position in the chair, he glared at his parchment as if it were to blame for his lack of a textbook.

Beside him, Hermione quietly worked on an extra credit assignment, having finished her in-class assignment five minutes ago. Hearing Draco’s frustrated sigh, she glanced at him. She took notice of his missing textbook and the last problem on the parchment blank.

“If you want, you can use my book.” She held the book out to him. “I’m finished.”

He scowled at the book, his lip riding up in apparent disgust.

“Fine.” She sighed and retracted the offer but paused when Draco thrust his pale hand out.

She gave him the book, and Draco returned to his work.

* * *

 

That night, Hermione sat in the common room, going over the Potions essay she had written, checking it for grammar, punctuation, and proper spelling. Confident that everything was in order, she carefully rolled up the three-foot long length of parchment and tucked it into her bag, ready to be turned in tomorrow afternoon. That said and done, she set about beginning her Ancient Runes essay.

Rooting around in her bag, she searched for her textbook and frowned when she didn’t find it.

“Harry? Ron? Did either of you take my Ancient Runes text?” she asked the two boys sitting by the fire playing Wizard Chess.

When both shook their heads, Hermione sat back, tapping her chin, and tried to think where she last had her book.

“Oh no!” She shot up out of her chair, the chair clattering noisily to the ground behind her. Draco still had her book.

Harry looked up from the chessboard as Ron’s bishop beheaded his pawn. “‘Mione, you ok?” 

“What? Oh, yes.” She righted the chair she had knocked over and stuffed her things into her bag.

“Where you going?” Ron asked as she slung her bag over her shoulder and began heading for the portrait.

“The library,” she said. “I forgot something.”

He nodded and returned his attention to the game as Hermione slipped out of the common room, holding the portrait open for a first year before stepping out. Once in the vacant hallway, she paused, shifting from one foot to the other, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t very well search out the Slytherin common room. For one, only Slytherins knew its location; and two, entering their common room would be like walking into the enemy’s hideout. Exhaling sharply, she pursed her lips, thinking.

Then, her eyes lighting up, she got an idea and headed down the corridor, the west tower her destination.

The Owlery, empty of any students, echoed softly with hoots and rustlings of wings. Wrinkling her nose at the acrid scent of owl droppings, Hermione penned a quick note on a spare piece of parchment.

_ You have my Ancient Runes text. I’d like it back, please. _

_ -HG _

Tying the note to the leg of one of the school owls, Hermione told it who to give the note to and watched as the bird launched off of its perch, swooping out of the Owlery.

* * *

 

The next morning, as Hermione dug hungrily into a bowl of oatmeal topped with raisins, the owls made their appearance, soaring around the Great Hall. Setting her spoon down, she looked up expectantly as a brown and white speckled school owl glided effortlessly towards her. Seeing her book clutched in its claws, she smiled and reached out to take it from his grip. Expecting the owl to arc back up to the rafters and exit the Great Hall, Hermione gasped as the owl landed beside her bowl of oatmeal, dipping his beak into her glass of pumpkin juice, and gave her a soft hoot. Cocking her head to the side and staring curiously at the owl, Hermione opened her book and paused. Her mouth formed into a small circle as a piece of folded parchment drifted to the table. Grabbing it quickly, she tucked it into her hand.

“Who gave you the book, Hermione?” Ron asked, leaning over across Harry.

“Oh—um, just somebody who borrowed it yesterday.” She opened the parchment in her lap.

_ Mudblood, _

_ Here’s your filthy book back. _

_ -DM _

Rolling her eyes, Hermione tore off a section of the parchment and scribbled a reply. Affixing the reply to the owl’s foot, he took off through the Great Hall, blending with the other owls still flying about.

Circling the area where Draco sat, the owl dropped the parchment before the blond boy, the folded note landing in the butter dish. Sneering, Draco picked up the reply, holding it carefully between his index finger and thumb as if it carried a disease, and read it, frowning.

_ Thank you. _

_ -HG _

  
  



	2. Novus Facina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title loosely means Unusual Actions in Latin.

 

**Chapter Two**

“Novus Facina”

* * *

 

Saturday afternoon Hermione sat at her usual table in the back corner of the library. Shelves of books surrounded her, the gap between two towering shelves revealing Madam Pince’s vulture-like profile entering data into one of her numerous books stacked on the front desk. On Hermione’s table, a stack of books surrounded her,  _ Muggles and Their Superstitions _ , by Cornelia C. Cat, opened to the index. She glanced at the assignment description for her Ancient Rune’s essay.

_ In an essay approximately two feet long, describe the runes needed to represent the number 666. Then, explain the significance of the number in the Muggle world and how one might use those runes. Site at least two sources you used at the end of your essay in SWF (Standard Wizarding Format). _

Returning to the book’s index, her finger ran down the dusty, yellowed parchment until it came to stop on:  _ Numbers and Their Meanings -  _ chapter 39. Flipping through the pages, Hermione found the chapter she wanted and began reading.

The library hummed with silence, interrupted only by the occasional page turn from the Ravenclaw sixth year sitting clear across the library. Sighing with contentment, Hermione let the scent of aged parchment lull her into a relaxed state. She rested her chin in her palm and let her eyes roam over the pages.

Up at the front of the library, the doors creaked open. Looking up, Hermione watched as Draco entered, closing the doors behind him. Madam Pince’s gaze followed him as he crossed the center of the library diagonally, her beady eyes scrutinizing his every move. He disappeared behind a shelf of books, one Hermione recognized as being the Muggle Studies section. Moments later, he reemerged, and her eyes followed as he sauntered up to the front desk. She frowned as the librarian leaned around Draco and pointed in her direction. Draco turned, looked at Hermione, and sneered. His robes billowing behind him, he strode across the library and came to stop beside her table.

“The old bat says you have  _ Muggles and Their Superstitions _ .” He regarded her as if she were a jarred specimen in Professor Snape’s office.

Sighing, Hermione turned the page. “I’m using it,” she said levelly.

“Well, I need it.” He held his hand out, expecting her to simply hand over the book.

“And I told you,” she said, staring at him evenly, “I’m using it. Either you can wait until I’m finished, or we can share it.” She gestured to the open chair across from her.

“Bloody hell, Granger,” he shouted, earning a sharp look from Madam Pince, which he ignored. “You’re a Muggleborn. You know all this.”

Tilting her head to the side, Hermione raised her eyebrows. “What? No mudblood comment?”

Draco growled before turning and stalking away, his fists clenched at his sides. Hermione watched him stomp off and rolled her eyes before returning to her essay.

A second later, the chair across from her was violently wrenched out and Draco flopped down, his hair a messy disarray. Glancing up from writing, Hermione set her quill down and waited for the fuming boy to speak. When he finally did, the words were forced out as if they hurt.

“Fine, we’ll share your bloody book.”

Satisfied, she smiled and turned the book sideways. Draco blew a strand of pale blond hair out of his eyes and grabbed a roll of parchment and his quill. Dragging the book a few centimeters closer to him, he craned his neck awkwardly and scanned the information. Hermione returned to her essay, her quill scratching quietly across the parchment. As she worked, her attention wavered uncharacteristically from her assignment, finding her gaze drifting to the person sitting across from her. He sat ramrod straight, his quill gliding across the parchment, leaving in its wake lines of inked words.

Something seemed off about him—for that she was sure. Yet, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It certainly seemed strange for him to willingly sit across from her and share her book. The Draco Malfoy she knew wouldn’t even dare. And the muggleborn comment. He had always called her a mudblood. Why go for decency when it had never mattered to him before?

“What?” The snapped remark startled her, and she realized she had been staring at him and shook herself of her mental wanderings. Draco glared at her, his eyes a cold wall and his mouth open slightly, his upper lip curling.

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

“Whatever.” Draco dismissed her with ease and practice.

They both returned to their work, Hermione paying mind to not let her thoughts wander again. The next hour passed in relative silence with thankfully no interruptions. Placing her quill down, Hermione stretched her arms above her head, arching her back until the individual vertebrae popped pleasantly. The large clock above the front desk ticked quietly, showing an hour before dinner. Hermione toyed with the edge of her two and a half foot essay, rereading it.

“What does this mean?”

She glanced up, seeing Draco pointing to something on their assignment sheet.

Brushing a lock of hair out of her face, she read what his finger pointed to. “Standard Wizarding Format is a way to site your sources,” she said, looking up at him.

“Oh.” He paused. “How do I do that?”

Rifling through the stack of books on her left, she handed him a thin, yellow book titled,  _ A Guide to Wizard Writing _ , by Peter E. Norwall. “There’s an explanation on page ten.”

Nodding, he flipped through the book, and Hermione returned to finishing her essay. Pleased with her work, Hermione rolled the length of parchment up and stowed it away in her bag along with her quill. Standing, she regarded Draco briefly, his head bent over his parchment.

“Make sure to put the books back when you’re finished,” she said, walking away, her bag thrown over her left shoulder.

* * *

 

The sun shone brightly, making the rolling, green lawns bright, as the fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins gathered at Hagrid’s hut for their Care of Magical Creatures lesson. Hermione stood between Ron and Harry, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, having discarded her robe earlier.

“I still don’t see why we have to have this class with the Slytherins.” Ron pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “We had it with them last year.”

“We don’t have any control over our schedules, Ronald,” Hermione said, glancing at the red haired boy beside her.

Huffing, he glowered at the Slytherins standing on the other end of the penned-in yard beside the hut. “Bloody gits better not start any trouble.”

“Language,” she scolded as Hagrid emerged through the large front door, and Hermione shifted her attention to the half-giant carrying a wooden crate.

“Good mornin’ class.” He gently set the crate on the ground, and the creature inside made soft squeaking noises. “Yer in for a treat today.” He grinned wide, his bushy beard rustling.

The class groaned, the Slytherins rolling their eyes and making rude gestures behind Hagrid’s back. Ron growled, and Harry rested a hand on his shoulder. “Calm it, mate.”

“Well, come,” Hagrid said, waving his massive arms around, urging the students to approach the crate. “Gather ‘round, gather ‘round.”

Hesitantly, the class took a few steps forward, some of the braver students leaning over to peek into the crate. A dozen or so squat animals covered in short, fluffy, brown fur wiggled together, their heads indistinguishable from their rears.

“Tha’s right. No need to be frightened of ‘em.”

Draco snorted, rolled his eyes, and leaned over, whispering something to the black-haired boy next to him. Ron tensed and muttered something under his breath. Glancing at him, Hermione grabbed his hand and tugged on it pleadingly.

“Now, does anyone know wha’ these are?”

Hermione raised her hand. “Those are Bandy-legged Hummerlings.”

Hagrid grinned, and his chest swelled with pride. “Tha’s right,” he said. “Five points to Gryffindor.”

Hermione beamed.

“Bandy-legged Hummerlings?” Draco sneered, and the boy standing next to him glowered darkly at Hagrid. “We’re studying vermin?”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Hagrid roared, turning to face the boy. “If yeh have a problem with what I’m teachin’, then you take it up with the Headmaster.”

Draco crossed his arms across his chest, looking up at Hagrid, one pale eyebrow raised snootily. “And what if my problem is with the half-blood teaching me?” he asked, saying ‘half-blood’ as if it were poison.

Hagrid paused, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. And it was at this moment that Hermione and Harry’s hold on Ron broke, the red head barreling across the penned in yard, fury boiling beneath his skin.

“You take that back Malfoy,” he shouted, shoving the blond boy in the chest.

Hermione wedged herself between Draco and Ron just as Draco reached for his wand stowed in his sleeve. “Ron, back off,” she demanded, pushing him away with her hand.

“Hermione! You heard what the bloody berk said.” Ron snarled at Draco, the blond boy held back by Hagrid.

“I did,” she said, “but fighting won’t get you anywhere except detention or expelled.”

“Well said ‘ermione,” Hagrid said, letting go of a now calmer Draco, “and that’ll be twenty points from Slytherin and a detention tonight for yeh, Mr. Malfoy.”

Glaring at the half-giant, Draco returned to where he had stood next to the black haired boy. Class back in order, Hagrid continued on with his lesson.

“As Miss Granger told us, these are Bandy-legged Hummerlings.” He bent down and picking up one of the creatures. It twisted and wriggled in his massive hands, all the while squealing. “Now, can any of yeh tell me what they eat?”

Hermione raised her hand again. “Grubs?”

Hagrid nodded. “Tha’s right. Another five points ter Gryffindor,” he said. “Now, where did I put those?” He frowned, riffling through his multitude of pockets. “Ah! ‘Ere they are.” He produced a large tub, opened it, and set it down on the workbench. “Alright, time for the lot of yeh to get to work.”

Not too soon after, the students were divided up into groups and set to the task of feeding the squirming, brown creatures.

* * *

 

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione received a letter delivered by one of the school owls.

_ Meet me in the library after your last class today. _

_ -DM _

Shaking her head, she scribbled a reply.

_ No. _

_ -HG _

Tying the parchment to the owl’s leg, she sent him off and returned to her buttered toast.

“Who was that from, ‘Mione?” Harry asked, staring at her over his goblet of pumpkin juice.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, no one important.”

He raised one eyebrow in question, and Hermione countered with a big grin. Rolling his eyes humorously, Harry shook his head and laughed.

“Hermione?” Ron turned in his seat. “Did you finish your History of Magic homework?”

“Of course,” she said, munching on her toast.

“Can I look at it?”

“No.”

“Why?” His shoulders sagged.

She regarded him harshly. “Because you need to learn to do your homework the night before,  _ not _ at the breakfast table.” She gestured to the scroll of parchment in front of Ron.

“But—”

“No, Ron.” Hermione stood from the table and gathered her things as the bell rang. “Plus, breakfast is over. You wouldn’t have had time anyways.”

* * *

 

At lunch, she received another folded letter delivered by another school owl.

_ Why not? _

_ -DM _

And as with the previous note, she replied.

_ What makes you think I’d even say yes? _

_ -HG _

* * *

 

“That bloody git gave me detention!” Ron seethed after Potions as he, Hermione, and Harry walked through the dungeons.

“Ronald! That’s a teacher you’re talking about,” Hermione said, sending him a cutting glare.

“Did he see me throw another vial of pixie dust into Malfoy’s cauldron? No! Because I didn’t.” He clenched his fists at his sides. “Malfoy set me up.”

“We know that, mate,” Harry said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. “We just need to deal with the greasy git through next year, and then we can drop Potions.”

Ron sighed, all the tension escaping his body. “I swear,” he mumbled, “if murder weren’t illegal, I’d know—”

“Ron—” Hermione stumbled forward as somebody crashed into her from behind. She fell to the ground with a muffled  _ oomph _ and whoever ran into her fell on top, pinning her to the ground.

“Bloody hell, Granger.” Draco glared at her stonily, blond hair hanging down, nearly brushing her face. “You clumsy cow.”

Hermione sighed, dismissing the insult. “Malfoy, get off me,” she said, trying to use her arms as leverage.

He leered down at her and then glanced up, only to meet Harry’s wand. “Get off her, Malfoy,” he said, holding Ron back with one arm.

His lip curling into a nasty look, he got to his feet, but not before cramming something into Hermione’s hand. Brushing his robes off, he turned and walked away, flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle, a prominent strut in his step.

Harry watched him walk away for a minute before glancing down at Hermione. “You ok, ‘Mione?” he asked, offering her a hand up.

She took it and Harry hauled her up. “I’m fine.” She brushed her hands down her robes.

“I’m gonna kill him. I swear, I’m gonna kill him.” Ron punched the wall and shot a fiery glare in the direction Draco had departed. His hands clenched involuntarily, and a red shade of fury crept up his neck.

“Ron,” Hermione said, resting a hand on his arm. “I’m fine.”

“She’s alright, mate. He’s just trying to egg you on. Now,” Harry slung an arm over his friend’s shoulders, “we’ve got a free period before dinner. I think a round or two of chess is in order.”

Sighing, Ron hung his head. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “But, I swear, if he tries something like that again, I’m gonna tear him to shreds.”

“I’ve no doubt in that,” Harry said.

As they walked away, Hermione kept her hand tightly closed around the crumpled parchment Draco had forced into her grip.

* * *

 

Once safely in the confines of her room, Hermione closed and locked the door with a quick charm. Smoothing out the parchment, she read his note.

_ You’ll come because I’ve asked you to. _

_ -DM _

Crumpling the paper in disgust, she tossed it into the small fireplace in her dormitory, irritated at his arrogance. Flopping down on her bed, she stared blankly at the ceiling and blew a lock of curly hair out of her eyes. Watching it forced up into the air, Hermione blew on it again as it drifted back down. Why was he so insistent on seeing her? What did she have that he wanted?

Rolling over onto her side, she let the flickering light from the fire catch her gaze. The parchment sat on the edge of the fire, its edges scorched and curled. Sighing, Hermione sat up, wishing she knew why she was so curious about what Draco wanted.

Crookshanks jumped up onto the bed and nuzzled his head into Hermione’s side. Picking him up, she buried her face in his fur.

“What does he want, Crookshanks?” she mumbled.

He meowed, his squashed face staring knowingly at Hermione.

“Should I go meet him?” she asked.

Jumping down to the floor, her cat approached the door, turned around and looked at Hermione expectantly.

“Ugh.” She flopped back down. “I can’t. Harry and Ron would kill me. I’d be consorting with the enemy.”

Crookshanks responded by yowling low in his throat, pacing the door, his tail flicking to and fro.

Hermione sighed, turning onto her side again, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her comforter. Jumping back onto her bed, Crookshanks daintily stepped over her legs and plopped down beside her, his warm body snug against her stomach. Purring, he began cleaning his pawns. Absentmindedly, Hermione ran her fingers through his fur, thoughts running through her head, her eyes once again lost in the fire’s flames.

  
  



	3. Novo Ne Egeo Causa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title loosely means Change Not Be Without Reason in Latin.

******Chapter Three**

“Novo Ne Egeo Causa”

* * *

 

A week had passed since Hermione’s sudden run-in with Draco. He hadn’t spoken to her since, in person or through owl. She sighed with relief and happily went about her life and schoolwork. However, a small part of her kept drifting subconsciously towards him in thought—the questions she had earlier having gone unanswered.

It was those questions that she pondered over as she sat beside the calm, black waters of the lake. Off in the distance, over the lake’s smooth surface, the squid lazily swam about, his long tentacles gliding across the surface of the water. Ripping the season’s last dandelions from the earth, she twisted them until their fragile stems broke. She let them fall to the ground, her arms resting upon her bent legs and her head tilted slightly in thought.

Behind her, someone approached, their footsteps sounding softly on the grass. They came to stop beside Hermione.

Looking up, Hermione frowned. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Draco glanced down at her. “What? I can’t look out over the lake?” Annoyance colored his tone.

“Let me rephrase my question,” she said, her statement bordering on unkindness. “Why did you choose this spot,” she gestured to where he stood, “when you have a whole lake to choose from?” She waved her arm in a flowing arc.

Bending down, Draco sat down beside Hermione. “I like this spot.”

“Well, choose a different spot,” she said, staring out over the lake.

“No.”

Whipping her head around, Hermione sent him a fiery glare. Draco met her look with relative indifference and a raised eyebrow before turning away, resting his arms on his raised knees. Turning away from him slowly, she fumed in silence but said no more. He, like Hermione, stared off across the lake, not quite seeing the gentle ripples in the water or the small flock of birds that had just landed on the lake’s surface. Instead, he let his mind drift.

Hermione mirrored his actions. The long strands of hair framing her face, freed from the clip holding her hair back, blew in the wind. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the sweetness of the fresh air mixed delicately with the smoky scent from Hagrid’s hut not too far away. Hermione felt content and, oddly enough, in the presence of Draco Malfoy. Glancing at him, she watched as he did absolutely nothing, the normally frigid exterior absent.

“Granger?” he asked a moment later.

“What?” she answered.

He hesitated. “Do you ever think about the future?”

“Of course,” she said, her delicate eyebrows creasing, the question seeming odd coming from him. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it lately.” She looked over at him, her eyebrows raised. Draco met her gaze for a split second and turned away. “Sometimes I—I wonder…” he trailed off and sighed.

“What were you going to say?” she asked softly, her eyes still trained on his lithe form.

“I just—” He paused and then shook his head. “Nevermind.”

“No, tell me?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, getting to his feet. Wiping off the seat of his pants, he turned to walk back to the castle. “Forget I said anything, Granger.”

Hermione got to her feet. “No, wait,” she said, following him.

Spinning around, Draco sent her a scathing look. “I said forget it, Granger. Plus, Potty and Weasel are coming this way. You wouldn’t want them to see you hanging around with the likes of me, would you?” He sneered at Hermione before stalking away.

Huffing, Hermione crossed her arms, turning to see Harry and Ron leaving Hagrid’s hut. She shook her head and began walking towards her two best friends.

* * *

 

Another week passed without any word from Draco. He faded back into his typical existence as the Slytherin Prince, strutting around Hogwarts, picking fights, and snarling insulting threats at the lower years. Everything seemed in order, to the untrained eye. However, Hermione couldn’t help but notice the subtle oddities, no matter how hard she tried to ignore him.

He rarely hung around with Crabbe and Goyle anymore, choosing instead to be seen with a tall and exotic boy. The way he never uttered  _ mudblood _ , at least where she could hear, sounded like a siren in her brain. And every so often, she would meet his eyes, whether in the Great Hall at dinner or in passing on their way to class. In those brief seconds, his eyes lacked the carefully calculated coldness she had become accustomed to. And in the next moment, he’d look away, his normal icy guard standing alert once again in his cool, gray eyes.

The rest of the school went about their business as usual, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Hermione wished she could join them in their indifference. She wished she could care less about Draco Malfoy, but something in her heart just wouldn’t let the matter rest.

She found herself in the library again, as usual, Sunday morning. Outside, the storm to end all storms raged. Winds wailed and threw buckets of rain at the windows, causing the glass to rattle. Thunder rolled over the sky, flashes of lightening following at even intervals. Inside, however, proved to be a much calmer atmosphere. With the weather not permitting outdoor activities, many students chose to hole themselves up in the library. Groups of students, and the occasional single student, dotted the tables in the center of the library. Some furiously scribbled away while others leisurely flipped through books while chatting with the person beside them. Hermione belonged to the group of solitary studiers and diligently worked on her Potions essay in a back corner where no one would bother her.

At the front of the library, Draco entered. Hermione sensed his entrance and leaned over to watch as he strode into the library and disappeared into the shelves. Sighing, she returned to her essay, flipping through a book on rare Potions ingredients, looking for the section on dragon scales.

“Psst.”

Looking up, Hermione frowned and listened. When only the usual sounds of the library met her ears, she returned to her homework.

“Psst.”

Hermione’s head shot up again, her eyes darting around, looking for the source of the noise. Irritation crept up her spine. She had sought out the most secluded table in the library for a reason.

“Granger,” someone whispered. “Over here.”

Draco stood behind the shelves of books to her right, beckoning to her with his outstretched finger. Glancing at the other students in the library, none noticing Draco’s presence, she braced her hands on the table and leaned over to the right.

“What do you want?” she whispered.

“Come here,” he said quietly.

“Why?”

Draco sighed. “Stop being difficult Granger and come over here.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

He passed her an annoyed glare. “Granger,” he said, his tone leaning towards threatening.

“Fine.” She tucked her essay into her book and stood. Leaving her table, she ducked behind the stack of books, her arms crossed over her chest. “Ok, I’m here,” she said. “Now, what do you want?”

Draco shifted his weight to his other foot and scratched the back of his head. “Um—”

“Come on, I don’t have all day,” she said, waving her hand in circles, gesturing for him to hurry up.

“What are you doing right now?” he asked.

“Merlin,” she whispered, looking at the ceiling in exasperation. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I don’t know.” He crossed his arms. “You could be doing anything right now.”

Shaking her head, Hermione turned. “I don’t have time for these little games you’re playing.”

“Granger.” Draco reached out and grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

Hermione stiffened. “What?”

“Can I study with you?”

She wrenched her arm from his grip. “No!”

Glowering at her, Draco sneered. “Fine,” he bit out, turning on his heel and leaving, his robe flaring violently in his wake.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Hermione scanned over a letter she had written to her mother the night before.

_ Dear Mum, _

_ I have a question. Are people capable of changing? I know most are, but you see, I’ve gotten myself into a rather odd situation. Do you remember my second year when I owled home after Draco Malfoy first called me a mudblood? And then I’m sure you remember all the letters that followed over the years detailing what a vile and cruel boy he was. He’s changed; or, rather, he’s changed towards me. We keep running into each other, and I think he’s been doing it on purpose, like he’s searching me out. I haven’t figured out exactly what he wants yet, but I’m trying. I’m just confused because he’s the last person I’d imagine who would do something like this. What should I do? _

_ Love, _

_ Hermione _

Glancing down the table, she spotted Hedwig nibbling at Harry’s eggs.

“Harry?”

He turned. “Yeah, ‘Mione?”

“Do you think I could borrow Hedwig?” she asked. “I want to owl my mum.”

“Sure,” he said, sending his owl to Hermione.

Smiling her thanks, Hermione tied her letter to Hedwig’s leg and sent her off.

* * *

 

At dinner, Hedwig returned, swooping down in a flurry of white feathers, nearly landing in Hermione’s mashed potatoes. Retrieving her reply, Hermione sent Hedwig back to Harry with a friendly pat on the head and opened her letter.

_ Dear Hermione, _

_ Yes, I believe anybody can change, but only under the right conditions. I stress this last part. Nobody changes without a reason. That said, if Draco has changed like you said he has, then there must be a reason. And if everything you’ve told me about him over the years has been true, then the reason most likely isn’t pleasant. He might be looking for a friend, as hard as that may be for you to believe. As to what I think you should do, I think you should do what your heart tells you. You are a compassionate and loving young woman, and I believe that you will do what is right. However, I will ask you, as your mum, to tread carefully. Change isn’t always permanent. _

_ Study hard my love, _

_ Mum _

Hermione sighed, folding the letter once and then twice, tucking it into her bag.

“What’d your mum have to say?” Harry asked.

Hermione glanced at him. “She just offered me a bit of advice.”

Harry cocked his head to the side. “Anything I can help with?”

Hermione smiled at him. “Thanks but I have it under control.”

Nibbling at an ear of corn, Hermione looked out across the Great Hall and over the dozens and dozens of students eating and chatting merrily. Clear across the hall, Draco sat at the Slytherin table, flanked by the black haired boy she always saw him with and a seedy looking boy with greasy, brown hair. He must have felt her eyes on him, for a moment later, Draco glanced up. She met his eyes for a brief second, her head tilted to the side, wondering what reason, if any, he had for his sudden shift in behavior.

* * *

 

Tuesday mornings for most of the fourth year Gryffindors had a free period between History of Magic and lunch. Typically, Hermione used this time to work on homework. However, this particular Tuesday, she found all her homework completed for that week and halfway into the next. Biting her lip, she stared at her day planner and shrugged, figuring her already wandering mind couldn’t tolerate another essay. Closing the leather bound book, she slipped it into her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder, and turned, leaving the Great Hall.

The lake had always been her place to think, and today she sought out its calming effects. The weather, typical to early October, was cool but overshadowed by the occasional pool of warmth created by the sun, partially hidden by the drifting clusters of clouds. Hermione walked down to the lake and through the trees bordering the water.

Halfway there, she halted in her steps as she spotted a lone figure down near the lake’s edge. Hesitant, she slowly continued her trek, the figure revealing himself to be Draco as she neared and his head of blond hair came into sight. He sat, his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. His gaze was steadily drawn to the lake, as if he was in a trance. He gave no indication that he knew of her presence; although, she was sure he heard her approach. Cautiously, Hermione moved towards him, sitting down beside him.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi,” he replied absentmindedly.

“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing at him, noticing the guarded look in his eyes.

“Nothing.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, fiddling with the hair tie around her wrist. “Is everything okay?” she asked, unsure whether she asked the right question.

“I’m fine,” Draco answered monotonously.

Sensing a carefully guarded lie, she turned towards him. “Are you sure?”

He nodded.

Hermione sighed, her fingers plucking at her hair tie. This drastic shift of mood in him pulled at her heartstrings, much to her chagrin. She knew her mother was correct in saying change always had a reason. However, Hermione still wasn’t ready to accept the change, nor was she comfortable with it. Somewhere in her mind he was still Draco Malfoy, her mortal enemy.

She sat beside him, saying not another word, until the bell up at the castle indicated the start of lunch. When the bell rang, Draco quietly got to his feet and walked away, and Hermione followed a minute later.

  
  



	4. Dulcis Itaque Sermo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title loosely means Sweets and Conversations in Latin.

******Chapter Four**

“Dulcis Itaque Sermo”

* * *

 

The second week of October brought the first cold front of the season. Chilling drafts lurked in dark corners of the castle, and any student feeling the need for fresh air would need to bundle up before venturing outside. The first Hogsmeade weekend dawned cool and cloudy as students emerged from their beds. When they finally convened in the courtyard, a fine mist had settled over the lawns. It collected in Hermione’s hair as she waited alongside Harry and Ron, a heavy cloak keeping the wind at bay.

“I think we should go to Zonko’s first.” Ron hopped up and down on his feet to keep warm.

Harry nodded, hugging himself. “I heard they got a new kind of fake wand. It turns to jelly when you try and use it.”

“You know what kind?” Ron asked.

Harry tilted his head to the side. “I think the ad said grape.”

“Fantastic,” he said, grinning. “I think I ought to buy one or two.”

“Anywhere you need to go ‘Mione?” Harry turned to look at Hermione.

Hermione shoved her mittened hands beneath her cloak. “Honeydukes. I’m out of Chocolate Frogs.”

Harry nodded. “I need to go there too. You know, I think somebody nicked my Nicholas Flamel card,” he said. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

“It’s probably under your bed,” she said.

“No.” He frowned. “I looked there. Oh well.” He shrugged. “I’ll just have to buy some more.”

Hermione nodded. “I also want to go to Scrivenshaft’s.”

“Why would you want to go there?” Ron asked, slightly appalled.

Sighing, Hermione regarded Ron tersely. “I happen to enjoy that store.”

He shrugged. “Whatever charms your wand.”

“I can go there when you two go to Zonko’s”

Professor McGonagall appeared, a long list in her hand. “When I call your name, raise your hand, and I’ll check you off. Once everybody is accounted for, then we can leave.”

* * *

Students crowded Honeydukes from wall to wall, some milling around while others rummaged in bins. A sugary sweetness filled the air, and the shelves and bins were packed with colorful boxes of sweets. Candy filled the store nearly as far as the eye could see, any student’s heaven. Hermione stood in the middle of aisle two, a basket thrown over her arm as she surveyed the Chocolate Frogs before her. Honeydukes’ manufacturing and research department had issued a new variety of Chocolate Frog: dark chocolate. The idea tantalized the center of her brain devoted to chocolate, and now she had to choose between her much loved original Chocolate Frog or the new variety. Hermione had always been one to try new things; however, when it came to her Chocolate Frogs, she was very particular about what she wanted. Sighing, she pressed her lips together and transferred her weight to her other foot, scratching her chin.

“Personally, I’d go for the new dark chocolate.”

Slightly startled, Hermione looked up into the silvery-gray eyes of Draco.

“Pardon?” She glanced at him and then behind her.

“What?” he asked, seeing where her eyes roamed. “Scared your little Potty or Weasel will see you fraternizing with me?”

“What? No.” A blush crept up her cheeks, and she turned away.

“Whatever, Granger,” he said, turning to stare at the boxes upon boxes of Chocolate Frogs.

“You know,” she said, “they do have names.”

“I know.” He selected a Chocolate Frog and read the back of the box.

“Then why don’t you use them?” Reaching up, she grabbed a small stack of Dark Chocolate Frogs. “Do you really think I should go with the dark chocolate?”

“I prefer Potty and Weasel,” he said, “and I do think you should go with the dark chocolate.”

“I’d prefer if you called them Harry and Ron, or at least Potter and Weasley,” she said. “But what if I don’t like the dark chocolate kind?”

“I don’t think your preferences matter considering it’s my speech we’re talking about.” He raised one eyebrow and gave her a patronizing look. “And if you’re scared you won’t like the dark chocolate variety, then get half and half.” He dropped a handful of Chocolate Frogs into her basket and walked off.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head and sorted through the Chocolate Frogs already in her basket. When a small sheet of folded parchment turned up between two boxes of Dark Chocolate Frogs, she frowned and retrieved the note. Unfolding it, she smoothed out the wrinkled edges and read the tiny words scrawled on the sheet.

_ Meet me behind Madam Puddifoot’s at 1pm. _

_ -DM _

Hermione pressed her lips together and slipped the note into her cloak’s pocket. Dumping a few more handfuls of Chocolate Frogs into her basket, she weaved her way to the front counter, paid for her sweets, and headed onto Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop.

* * *

 

The land behind Madam Puddifoot’s, dotted with various trees and bushes, remained vacant of any buildings as it sloped gently downhill. Hermione and Draco sat side by side on a large fallen log among a small grouping of bushes. The sounds of merry students enjoying an outing to Hogsmeade could faintly be heard, and the aroma of freshly brewed tea seemed to hang in the area surrounding Madam Puddifoot’s.

“Why do you hang around with Potty and Weasel?” Draco asked, picking up random stones and throwing them.

Hermione turned to him. “That should be obvious. They’re my friends.”

“But they’re so annoying,” he whined and chucked another stone.

“You barely know them,” she said. “You shouldn’t make conclusions like that.”

He stared at her. “I know them well enough.”

Hermione glanced at him witheringly. “You don’t know either of them at all.”

Draco matched her expression. “I know them well enough to know that they’re annoying.”

“And you only think they are annoying because you want to think they’re annoying,” she said.

Sitting up straighter, Draco glared at Hermione in haughty annoyance. “And who are you to say what I want to think?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “It’s rather obvious.”

“It is not!”

“I hope you realize that when you deny something’s obviousness you also admit its existence.” She smirked.

“And how do you figure that?”

“How can you say something isn’t obvious without knowing that that something exists in the first place?” she asked condescendingly.

Draco stared blankly at Hermione for a minute and then turned away. “Whatever, Granger.”

Still smirking, now more to herself than at Draco, Hermione rummaged around in her Honeyduke’s bag. Extracting a dark purple box containing a Dark Chocolate Frog, Hermione ripped through the cardboard and picked up the frog, setting it in the palm of her hand. The magic contained within the chocolate hummed pleasantly against her skin. She studied it, her head tilted to the right, trying to decide whether she liked the appearance of this new frog.

“You’re supposed to eat it, Granger,” Draco drawled, and Hermione looked up at him.

However, the moment she took her eyes off the frog, it decided to leap out of her hand and attach itself to Draco’s face directly over his right temple. Draco froze, his eyes sliding to their corners as he glared at the frog. Stifling a smile with one hand, she reached out just as the frog readied itself for another jump and gently plucked the frog from his face. She crammed it into her mouth.

“I’m glad you found that funny, Granger,” he said when barely contained giggles kept coming from Hermione.

Hermione turned towards him. “I’m sorry,” she said around a mouthful of chocolate. “You have to admit, it was funny.”

He looked at her dryly, his lips pressed together, and fine strands of blond hair blowing in the wind. “Quite funny.”

Sighing, she turned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in her palms. Draco glanced at her for a moment and shrugged before returning to tossing rocks.

“So, why do you really hang around with Potty and Weasel?” he asked again after several moments of silence.

Hermione tilted her head to look at him. “I already told you,” she said. “They’re my friends. You’ve got to understand that much.”

“Why them?”

“Why not?”

“Don’t answer my question with a question,” he said. “It’s annoying.”

Hermione sighed. “They are my friends because that’s just who they are,” she said. “You’ve got friends of your own; you must understand that.”

Laughing humorlessly, Draco stared at the sky. “Right, friends of my own. If that’s what you want to call them.” Setting his lips in a thin line, he regarded Hermione with an expression less than amused. “You don’t make friends in Slytherin,” he said. “You make allies.”

“But what about those two boys who used to follow you around?” she asked.

“Crabbe and Goyle?”

Hermione nodded.

“I think the operative phrase you used was  _ used to  _ follow me around,” he said.

“But—”

“But what, Granger?”

“But what about that boy I’ve seen you around with?” She brushed a lock of hair out of her face.

“Blaise?” He fiddled with a few stones in his hand.

“That’s his name?”

Draco nodded.

“Well,” Hermione said. “Wouldn’t he be your friend?”

“More of an ally.”

“What’s the difference?” she asked, shaking her head in confusion.

Standing up, Draco brushed off the seat of his pants and regarded Hermione with a cold look. “I don’t know, Granger. Why don’t you look it up in a book?”

Turning on his heel, Draco marched up the slope and out of sight, leaving Hermione confused and a bit perplexed.

* * *

 

The next evening, Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room performing final revisions on two essays due Monday morning. Biting her bottom lip, she scratched out  _ mixed in _ and replaced it with  _ integrated _ before moving onto the rest of her essay, adding in a comma here and deleting a comma there. Reaching the end of her current paragraph, she set her quill down and rubbed her eyes.

“You alright, ‘Mione?” Harry asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down across from her.

Looking up at her friend, she gave a half-shrug. “I guess.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Because it looks like something’s bothering you.”

Sighing, she stared unseeingly at her essay. “I just—” She rubbed the side of her head where a minor headache had begun. “I’m fine,” she said, glancing at Harry, nodding. “I’m fine.”

Concern creased his brow. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, smiling slightly. “I’m fine.”

“All right,” he said, bracing his hands on the table and stood up. “Then I guess I’ll let you get back to your essay.”

Hermione smiled and returned to her homework.

“But, Hermione,” Harry said at the last minute, turning to glance at her. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

“Ok,” she said.

“And I’ll listen,” he said. “Anything you have to say, I’ll listen.”

She smiled again and nodded. “Thanks Harry.”

Satisfied, Harry nodded once and returned to the couch where he and Ron were engaged in a game of Exploding Snap with Neville. Hermione returned to her essay; however, she found it difficult to concentrate as her thoughts began to take over. Realizing that she would get no more homework finished at that moment, she closed her book and slipped it into her bag.

She headed for the portrait. “I’m going for a little walk. I’ll be back before curfew.”

“Alright,” Harry said.

Ron frowned. “You’re going alone?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I need to clear my head.”

“Oh.” He flicked a glance at her before returning his attention to his rook. “Alright then.”

Situating her messenger bag over her shoulder, she left the common room and turned left down the first hallway she came to. The halls of Hogwarts, an hour before curfew, were silent and lit by the gentle glow of the torches. Occasionally, a stray student returning from the library or a meeting with a friend would appear, and Hermione would nod politely and move on.

She let her feet lead her as her mind wandered aimlessly through the thoughts racing through her head—the majority of them revolved around Draco. He was truly a puzzle, and Hermione wanted to figure him out, understand why he had been so different lately. It was out of character for the blond Slytherin to act so friendly with her, or as friendly as he could act. Something was going on; this Hermione knew.

Rooting around in her bag, Hermione found the small bag of Skittles her mother had sent her the other day. Aside from chocolate frogs, Skittles were her other sweet addiction. If her mother allowed her, Hermione imagined she’d be able to eat a dozen bags of the small sweet candies. Tearing the bag open, she fished one out and popped it into her mouth. Reaching another corner, she absentmindedly turned down the next corridor and stumbled as she crashed into another person. A pair of pale, long-fingered hands caught her, saving her from a nasty spill to the ground. However, her bag of Skittles couldn’t be salvaged as it fell to the ground, colorful, round candies skittering across the stone floor.

“Oh, bugger.” She watched her candy roll away.

“Granger?”

Hermione looked up. “Draco? What are you doing here?”

“Presumably the same thing you’re doing,” he said, removing his hands from her shoulders and brushing them awkwardly on his pants. “Taking a walk.”

“Oh.” She knelt down to gather her scattered candy.

Draco stooped down to help her. “What are these?” he asked, picking one up and holding it up to the flickering candle light.

“Skittles,” she said, returning the candy she’d gathered to the bag.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “And those are?”

“Muggle candy from the States,” she said simply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced up at him. “Try one.”

Staring at the red candy in his hand, he studied it skeptically and then gave it a tentative sniff.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione shook her head and laughed. “You’re supposed to eat it, Draco.”

Giving her a suspicious look, he cautiously placed it into his mouth and bit down. With a critical look in his eyes, he chewed.

“Not bad,” he said after swallowing.

Hermione smiled, finished picking up her candy, and stood up. “Walk with me?” she asked.

Draco considered her offer for a second before nodding. Together, they began walking down the corridor in silence as Hermione mechanically popped Skittles one-by-one into her mouth.

“Do you think I could have another?” he asked after a few moments.

She smiled, holding the bag up in her hand. “Hold out your hand.”

Complying, Draco reached his hand out, palm up, and watched as Hermione poured some into his hand.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

Her eyebrows shooting up in surprise, she grinned. “No problem.”

Returning to their own personal musings, Draco and Hermione wandered the halls of Hogwarts in silence until curfew began its inevitable approach, forcing them back to their respective common rooms.

  
  



	5. Omnis Populus Egenus Alius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title loosely means Everybody Needs Somebody in Latin.

******Chapter Five**

“Omnis Populus Egenus Alius”

* * *

 

Towards the end of October, just as Dumbledore had promised at the opening feast, the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton arrived in all the gale and glory expected of a group of young witches and wizards. The evening after the Goblet of Fire was presented to eligible students to enter into the Tri-Wizard Tournament, Hermione ducked out of the common room, needing to get away from the excited chatter and Fred and George’s seemingly never-ending displays of foolish mischief-making. All of the commotion grated on Hermione’s nerves, and she simply needed a moment to herself.

The lake, as usual, became her destination. Her thick cloak was wrapped around her, knowing the weather outside to be cold and wet, as all weather was at the end of October. Remaining sunlight cast the grounds in starkly contrasting shades of light and dark, the forms of which perpetually shifted and elongated as the sun sank. The trees by the lake had lost the majority of their leaves earlier that week, creating a thick blanket of yellows, oranges, and reds. Hermione waded through the multi-colored layer of leaves, her feet swishing rhythmically against the foliage. Reaching the edge of the lake, she toed the edge of the dark water and hugged her arms to her body, blowing a stressed breath of air out of her mouth.

It seemed her mind only focused on one person lately: Draco. He made her head ache, his shifting moods never seeming to stay on one emotion for longer than a few moments. Sometimes he would appear and say not a single word, leaving in the same silence that he arrived. His face would be carefully guarded against any emotion he may have felt; however, his eyes would reveal the trouble brewing beneath their cold, gray exterior. Other moments, anger would flush his face, filling his eyes with unabated hate, and he would scream and shout at Hermione until his voice grew hoarse. It was in those moments that Hermione felt equal feelings of fear and sadness towards Draco. Something was tearing him apart, and he obviously didn’t know how to deal with it.

The problem lay in his apparent inability to talk about what bothered him. Hermione knew sometimes the only way to ease pain was to talk about it. Yet the main issue remained that he rarely talked at all, and when he did, it was all shouts, insults, and pureblood propaganda. Sometimes Hermione was at a loss as to what she should do about him. If he didn’t talk about his problems, then there was nothing she could do.

However, she did know her mere presence helped him, for there were those rare moments where his shoulders relaxed, his fists unclenched, and he seemed at ease. Hermione wished she could experience more of those moments for she found them most revealing of his true character, such as his rather peculiar interest in Skittles. Yet, there was nothing she could do until he took the initiative and confided in her.

Behind her, leaves crunched and sticks cracked, and Hermione turned around, not surprised to see Draco approaching. They had adopted an unspoken routine in their meetings, the far side of the lake after dinner was their most frequent place and time.

“Hello,” she greeted as he came to stand next to her.

Draco said not a word and moved not a muscle. He simply stared at the ground, letting the wind muss up his hair. Hermione peeked at his face and sighed, seeing his eyes carefully blank and expressionless. Running a hand through her unruly curls, Hermione did the only thing she knew to do when Draco acted like this.

“What do you think about the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton?” she asked, glancing at him, expecting no response and getting none in return. “I’m hoping to pick up bits of French while they are here. Have you ever been to France?” Hermione passed Draco a quick glance, seeing him nod his head ever so slightly. “During the summers my parents take me traveling. They say they might take me to France this summer, and it’d be nice to speak a bit of their language.”

The streaks of sunlight reflected in the lake lengthened until, like a rubber band breaking, they popped and succumbed to the dim paleness of twilight. Hermione spoke, as this happened, about everything that entered her mind: all the countries she’d been to with her parents, her plans for Christmas break, imagined tasks she believed the Tri-Wizard Tournament would have, and even the current essay for Potions she was partly finished with. Draco stood and listened, or appeared to listen, as Hermione prattled on and on.

“Draco?” she asked when the light dimmed and edged towards darkness.

He turned towards her.

“It’s dark, we should go in.”

Blinking, he turned and headed back to the castle, Hermione not too far behind.

* * *

 

Tuesday afternoon arrived with as much doom and gloom as any two hour period spent in the Potions classroom would bring. A dank chill met Hermione as she entered the dimly lit room, Harry and Ron slightly ahead of her. The aroma of billywig and murlap hung in the air, the trace remains from the sixth year potions class held earlier in the day. The three slid into their seats, Hermione customarily between Harry and Ron, and waited as other students filed into the classroom. Draco arrived in the midst of a group of other Slytherins, along with Blaise Zabini, his head held high and an arrogant step in his gait. The mask he wore in the presence of other people was dutifully in place, not a thread of evidence to the trouble that lay beneath his steeled exterior.

“Bloody Malfoy,” Ron growled, his hands gripping his Potions text and his lip curling in disgust.

Draco, hearing Ron’s comment, paused and turned, his fellow Slytherins watching in anticipation. “Oh, has the Weasel something to say?” he asked snidely.

Ron stood from his seat. “I do, Ferret.” His chair toppled over and crashed to the ground.

At once, the entire classroom of students stopped and watched as a fight began to brew.

Hermione anxiously grabbed Ron’s shirt sleeve. “Ron,” she said quietly. “Sit down.”

Harry divided his attention between his enemy and his friend, the tips of his fingers touching the smooth, warm wood of his wand, ready for a fight. Ron ignored both his friends and glared at Draco, almost taunting him into a fight with his eyes.

“Then say it, Weasel,” Draco sneered, breaking free from the group of Slytherins and striding over to the Gryffindor’s side of the classroom, his black and green robes billowing purposely behind him. “Come on, say it to my face, you poor excuse for a wizard.”

Ron sneered, his top lip curling up as his nose wrinkled in disgust. “You’re the poor excuse for a wizard, Malfoy.”

Laughing cruelly, Draco glanced at the Slytherins surrounding him. “Me?” He pointed one long, pale finger to his chest. “A poor excuse for a wizard?” He paused for effect before his face darkened. “It’s poor muggle-loving fools like you and your family that give purebloods a bad name.”

Dead silence passed over the students.

Ron growled. “Don’t you dare insult my family.” He gripped his wand, his ears radiating the flaming anger he felt within. “You’re nothing but a Deatheater-wannabe.”

In an instant, Draco’s eyes lit with rage, and he whipped his wand out.

“ _ Stup- _ ”

“ _ Expelliarmus _ ,” Hermione shouted quicker than Draco could get his curse out, his wand being wrenched from his grip, much to his surprise.

“Miss Granger!” Professor Snape roared as he entered his classroom, slamming the door behind him, the students jumping and racing back to their seats. “Twenty points from Gryffindor.”

Behind her, Harry grabbed Ron as he glared daggers at Professor Snape. Hermione froze, her wand still pointed at Draco, her eyes wide with terror.

Professor Snape came to a stop directly in front of Hermione. “I would suggest lowering your wand, Miss Granger,” he demanded, his black eyes conveying every threat imaginable to a young witch or wizard currently under his direct scrutiny.

Lowering her wand, Hermione blushed. “But Professor—” 

“Make that another twenty,” he said. “For your insolence.”

“But Malfoy started it.” She threw a hand in Draco’s direction as anger seethed in her belly. “He was going to curse Ron.”

A bated pause of silence passed through the classroom and Professor Snape smiled, an expression that send chills up Hermione’s spine. “Detention,” he said. “Tonight after dinner.” Professor Snape took a deep breath, his eyes darkening. “I do not tolerate blatant lies, Miss Granger. It would do you well to remember that in the future.” Turning on his heel, he strode to the front of the room and waved his wand, directions appearing upon the blackboard. “The Calming Draught is most useful…”

And class began, students settling down, taking out their class materials, and copying down the instructions written upon the board. Slowly, Hermione sat down, her lips pressed together. She had received detention, all on her own, and with Professor Snape. What had gotten into her? Never had she acted in such a way in a class before. Feeling near tears, she reluctantly began copying down the directions for the Calming Draught, suspecting she would need a dose by the end of the day.

* * *

 

That night after dinner, Hermione made her way down to the dungeons and to her imminent demise with her least favorite professor. Arriving at the door to the Potions classroom, Hermione knocked quietly.

“Enter,” Professor Snape beckoned from within.

Opening the door, Hermione stepped into the classroom, closing the door behind her. Without looking up from the stack of essays he graded, Professor Snape pointed to the corner of the classroom where a stack of cauldrons sat beside a sink. “Scrub them,” he said, “the muggle way.” Glaring up at her, he sneered. “I trust you can handle that, Miss Granger.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Professor Snape returned to his grading, and Hermione approached the cauldrons. Peering cautiously into their cavernous insides, she recoiled in disgust. A thick layer of green sludge—reminiscent of vomit—coated the interior of all the cauldrons, and an odor like rotten eggs and skunk lurked in the surrounding air. Trying not to gag, she rolled up the sleeves of her shirt and began working.

Twenty minutes into her detention, enough time for the remains of the potions caking the inside of the cauldrons to get under her fingernails, Professor Snape stood from his desk.

“The Headmaster has requested my presence,” he said, walking to the door. “I expect these cauldrons to be spotless by the time I return.”

Nodding, Hermione watched as he left the classroom, leaving the cavernous room quiet and eerie. Returning to her scrubbing and scraping, Hermione muttered to herself.

“Stupid Malfoy.” Biting her lip, she attacked the current cauldron with the scrub brush. “It’s all his fault.”

Insults she would have never uttered in public streamed from her lips, her pent up rage at the blond boy’s actions venting from her body and mind. Harry and Ron had been livid that afternoon after classes, claiming Professor Snape to be the smarmiest git ever to walk the Earth. And for once in her life, instead of scolding them for insulting a teacher, she agreed. Unfairness seemed to run rampant around Hogwarts—like a disease without a cure.

While the irrational part of her mind ranted and raved over what Draco had done, another part of her mind worried and fretted. In the month and a half that she and Draco had come to an unspoken understanding, she knew he fluctuated between emotional extremes. She also knew most of what he displayed to the world was a natural front he put up as a defense against getting hurt, and there was no doubt in Hermione’s mind that something was wrong in his life. And while she had no clue what problems plagued him, she was determined to find out.

Blowing a strand of sweaty hair out of her face, Hermione shook her head as her irrational side took over again. And then again, there were times that she just didn’t know why she tried with him. His moods were as unstable and violent as a volcano, anger ready to burst through at the slightest jab. She often tired of his anger and scathing words. A person could only handle so much hostility. However, Hermione knew that on some level, he needed her. Everybody needed somebody in the world, and who did Draco Malfoy have? She feared the answer to be  _ nobody _ .

The door to the Potions classroom squeaked open, and Hermione paused, praying that Professor Snape hadn’t returned. However, when Draco entered, she sighed, her shoulders sagging. No matter how much compassion she felt for the blond boy, he still was to blame for her detention, and her anger towards him still raged from earlier that day. Needless to say, he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Professor Snape?” he called out, his hand lingering on the door handle, not seeing Hermione. “I need to speak—” Draco spotted Hermione and scowled. “What the hell are you doing in here, Granger?”

His harsh accusation prodded at her nerves, causing her to answer in uncharacteristic anger. “You got me detention,” she spat out. “Remember?”

Crossing his arm, he regarded her coldly. “You got yourself detention. I had no part in it.”

“You had every part in it,” she said.

He folded his arms and avoided looking at her. “I did not.”

“You did too,” she said. “I got detention because of you.”

Draco paused, his silence tense with growing anger. “So you’re saying this is my fault?”

“Are you thick in the head?” In a violent burst of anger, Hermione threw the scrub brush at Draco. “Of course this is all your fault.”

Flinching as the brush arced past him, Draco took three steps forward, stopping directly in front of Hermione. Face to face, both seemed to vibrate with anger.

“It isn’t my fault,” he bit out.

“Yes it is.” Her cheeks grew hot with emotion “It’s always your fault.”

Pausing, Draco glared at Hermione as he breathed deeply, the rage seemingly building with each breath. And she watched as his eyes froze over and his body became rigid, knowing he would explode any second, just as he had time and time before. In those few moments, the anger she had felt melted into concern and trepidation. Then, like a dam breaking, Draco began shouting, and Hermione readied herself for the worst.

“Right, because everything’s always my fault. “He clenched his fists at his sides. “Everything I do always ruins something. That’s what you’re trying to say isn’t it?”

Hermione frowned and shook her head, her stomach twisting at his words, noticing the evident shift in his tone. “Draco—”

“I’m always the bad guy. Everybody always thinks the worst of me.”

She tried to reason with him. “That’s not—” 

“No!” he screamed, rounding on Hermione. “You don’t understand.”

She flinched and took a step back.

“You never understand. You think I’m this horrible person.”

Hermione shook her head. “No—”

“No one ever understands me.” His face reddened as he spun out of control. “Why doesn’t anyone ever understand me? Why is it always like this for me?”

She sighed, pressing her lips together. “Because you never—”

“I never what?”

“You never let anybody in,” she said meekly, wiping her hands on the sides of her skirt.

Draco shook his head, his mouth twisted into a snarl. “No, you just never understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Me.”

“You don’t let me.”

Huffing angrily, Draco turned and strode to the door. “You’re full of it, Granger.”

“It’s true, you know,” she called after him. “How can I understand you, if you won’t let me?”

Draco paused, breathing heavily, waiting for her to continue.

“I know something’s wrong, Draco,” she pleaded, not wanting him to walk out that door just yet.

Draco lunged forward, and Hermione took a small step back. “You don’t know anything, Granger,” he shouted. “You live this perfect little life.”

“It’s not always perfect,” she countered.

“Yes it is. I watch you.”

Crossing her arms, Hermione frowned. “You watch me?”

“You have everything. It bloody makes me sick.” Someone knocked upon the door and Draco scowled darkly. “What?!” he yelled at the door.

The door creaked open and a young man Hermione recognized as the famous Quidditch star and Durmstrang student, Viktor Krum, entered.

“I heard shouting,” he said, his accent thick. “Is everything ok?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes—”

“It’s none of your bloody business,” Draco yelled, taking a few steps towards Viktor. “Get out!”

Viktor shifted his questioning gaze to Hermione, and she nodded. “Everything is okay.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, hesitant to leave Hermione alone in the classroom with the visibly angry Draco.

She nodded. “Yes, we’re just working something out.”

Sighing, he turned and left the Potions classroom, leaving Hermione and Draco once again alone. Stooping down, Hermione picked up the scrub brush she had thrown earlier, regret beginning to filter in when she realized she had thrown it  _ at _ him in her anger. Setting it on the counter beside the sink and the stack of dirty cauldrons, she glanced at Draco. He stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes glaring at the door.

“Draco,” she ventured cautiously, “you need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me what I need, Granger,” he said, still scowling at the door.

“Ok, then at least look at me,” she said. Begrudgingly, he gave her one fleeting glance before looking away. “I know something’s wrong,” she said. “I’m not stupid.”

Draco rolled his eyes, still refusing to look at her.

“You can talk to me,” she said. Tucking a strand of wild hair behind her ear, Hermione took a few tentative steps forward and came to stand in front of Draco. “Tell me anything, and I’ll listen.”

He took a deep breath, and as he let it go, his shoulders relaxed and the anger left his body like a wave retreating from the shore. Hermione watched as he studied the floor, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. After a few silent moments, he glanced up, his eyes guarded but devoid of any anger.

“I don’t need your help, Granger,” he said.

“You don’t need it or you don’t want it?”

Her question struck something in him as the shield he constantly kept up slipped, and she knew the answer, although she knew it wouldn’t be the one he gave.

“Malfoys don’t need help,” he said, turning and walking towards the door, “especially from people like you.”

When the door banged shut, leaving Hermione all by herself, she sighed, her shoulders sagging, and she returned to her work, scrubbing and rinsing cauldrons for the rest of the night.

  
  



End file.
